"caitiff" poems
A frozen avalanche set my night aglitter,
A festive shroud descends upon the theater.
Crimson sirens cleave apart the verdant veil,
Into the darkness we stride without fail.
Beyond the jubilation lies the next chapter,
With adamant fortitude we give thee cheer.
To each their own joys; for none with least,
Lest we drown in today, few dice are cast.
Behold my picture, let the verdict be: asleepy.
I jest, I grin, yet within: smooth boreal sea.
Tis simpler to repulse that which is coveted,
A gaze that levels souls; I've gladly forfeited.
Why? I cannot answer what I do not know,
Yet reason continues to war with my soul.
Let the rain cleanse my self-aimed ire,
From whence come this burning desire?
By dulcet caitiff, I set my conundrum aside,
The crux of life remain, my Draconian hide.
Plebeian ennui paralyzes my gifted facilities,
Enough sophistry, let I bid thee turgidities.
Let mine eyes be painted blind.
How else to behold beauty so fine?
Why, my sober vision...
Scream in revulsion! :DD
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:13 AM UTC
which were the center of the Earth.
A rill, a gentle excite that rolled from side to side
touching the verdant moors and bridging the tepid winds
through the mirthy wood.
She
afluntered, pivoting in circles,
pronouncing an aubade for a throng
anthropolatrating agelasts.
Her palms and dactyls outstretched. A chilliad had passed, still her astereognosis never produced the fields and trunks before her. Amending the acronycal light an aeolistic caitiff arose, piercing the crowd, rising to her circumference. This clapperdudgeon and callet woman rang out in a cacophony of sharp jabbering, then another blellum arrived, then another carker, soon they were all cloffin at the pyre.
Her lips
instantly wet, her mouth broke its pursed chastity, and among the meek she suddenly was overcome with an incredible basorexia.
And so she began, bussing left to right, osculating
the buffoons and bavians.
Some cullion tried their way
towards & towards
and then disappeared in a comestion, another dratchell roused himself, sudorous and covered in culch. The concilliabule was dwaible now, those who weren't prying for her kisses were dwaling about frantically croodling, mooing, even barking. This wild frenzied lot of basiation and baisements. Beazing in the dying sun she began to crose and cough. Her blood and spit, her saliva became estiferous and unstable, she began to eroteme herself, her healthy figure was now ectomorphic. Her thoughts were unsettling, she began to fantasize her own decollation. Some sauntering madman with a sleek leather overcoat and an enormous hatchet hunching over her. It overcame her, this auto deicidal ideology in addition, the sweet kir began to wear off, and all she could feel was lackluster, emptiness, indifference. Eventually her acrasia overcame her and in her accidia and overbearing mania she took her own life. Her head slipped from her shoulders and rolled casually past her body, her knees collapsing before her feet, before her torso. And the abderian men and women cackled,
just sat and stared
her life, her love, all gone and disappeared.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
To little death
You fall into
From little death
I pull you out
...Loop...
Oh little death
Must you chase him?
Attention please!
...Nevermore...
There you lay
Paralyzed in oblivion
...A caitiff knight...
Tormented by silence
I reached out to you
Each second had me
...Quaking...
Eternal terror seized me
...bits by bits...
My lament
For your craven soul
But once More
I will say
...Please wake up...
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
A collection of collections collecting collections of crust. Cantily crying a cacophonous cry of cautious cackling. A cabretta covered caitiff crones a candorous call. Can a collection consist of collections crust covered collections and all?
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
hoot hoot hoot
under the covers of dusk
owls and the creepy crawlies
emerge from petrified barns and crevices
things of the dark unworthy of the glares of light
so unseen and hidden in nocturnal pampers they gambol
but not in grace or romance more in sleight and hunt to harm or ****
hoot hoot hoot
bug-eyed owls in singsong
what wisdom is seeing yet trilling vainly
as cowards in hidden boughs obtuse to plain sight
the archetypal backstabber who kills in menacing darkness
peacocks owns their magnificent brilliance in dazzling raylights
ugly owls recede in recesses of gloomy dank obscurity hoot hooting
peering into their twilight waning totems of downturns and decline
hoot hoot hoot
the onerous laboured owls
disturbed by insipid life and murky foliages
in sapping hunger plagued by ghosts surreal yet real
eager for preys but lacking the gile courage nuance or bravery
neither as lions tigers or the droves others ready to fend in daylight
bug eyes owls strikes undercover in iniquity hooting the hoots of caitiffs
Sep 22, 2020
Sep 22, 2020 at 4:59 PM UTC
Out of the shadows, thou dost
After all times that thou lorned;
I hate mirrors and thee most
When fourteenth sun doeth horn—
When bright roses all afire'th
And sugars playeth with the air,
I condemn this very life
Whom of envy and unfair,
The lyrics from every tongue
Of just happy and in love,
To me biteth as the fang
Of thy serpent, of my scythe!
The scent of February
And its fortnight willeth come,
Subtle shade of jealousy
Upon all the Earth and man
Oh Valentine, thou hurteth
Thy caitiff flesh and spirit!
Oh, the fourteenth sun shall set
And our roads are to split!
Wilt thou come again?
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC